The Life of the No Life King
by death-in-the-orchard
Summary: The story of Alucard when he was known as Vladimir Tepes Dracula III.
1. Chapter 1

"Nineteenth child and youngest son, step forward." Raven locks fluttered as the young boy walked up the marble steps. His large, sky-blue eyes were locked on his father's green eyes. The king looked the thin, fair skinned child over. And his eyes narrowed, his coldness not even making the boy flinch. He was the only child who was impudent enough to look him directly in the eye. _Weak in body, though not in heart, feh. The boy is useless for the world we exist in now. He cannot survive war. I do not need 19 children….18 is enough._

"I gave you the name Vladimir, did I not?" the king's gaze was steady, untouched by his thoughts.

"Yes." The child inclined his head slightly. "That is so, Father."

He glared at the boy. "Since when have you had permission to call me thus?" he said in a low voice, disgusted as it failed to affect the boy beyond an unnecessary blink.

"That is what…the others call you, my Lord."

He relaxed, but his stern look didn't. "They may, because I choose so. You cannot choose thus on your own, child." The king looked at his son with his uniform detached expression. "Leave me now."

The boy's eyes widened only to the point that one could have fancied he had shown the reaction. He bowed until his face was parallel to the ground and turned. The king always demanded the last word.

Pale fingers distorted the smooth surface of the pillow as the boy threw himself on the cushions that were piled in a mass, and he gripped the fabric until he clearly felt the feathers within it. He gritted his teeth in fury, but clutched the pillow in his loneliness.

"Vladimir?"

The gentle voice made him gasp and he sat up. "Mother." He smiled slightly, as he was always brought to a state of wonder when he saw the graceful woman. He never heard her make the slightest sound when she walked or opened the door, and her presence always felt like it was a blessing bestowed upon one's self. She seemed to ride the air as she made her way to her child and she lay down next to him and touched his cheek.

"You have upset our Lord."

"Why!" the boy's body jolted, but her eyes remained undisturbed. "Why must we have to call him that? Is he not my father?" His eyes burned with emotion.

"Do not cry." Her voice tried to soothe the rage.

"Never would I cry for such a man." He said heatedly, but the fire in his eyes was fading quickly. She wrapped her arms around him drew him down to her.

"You are a good child, Vladimir. Do not forget your kindness. It is all that can keep your soul pure within this turmoil." She said quietly into his hair.

"The war with the Turks?"

"Yes….and so much more." She kissed his hair and he sighed and closed his eyes. "Remember the Lord, Vladimir. Our true Lord, our God in heaven. He is our Father and he shall never forsake you. Did you hear me?" she pulled away to see his closed eyes.

"Yes, Mother. I always do, and I will remember God for your sake." He showed her the cross necklace he kept around his neck.

Her eyes deepened with sadness. "For your _own_ sake, child." She kissed his hair.

"Of course." He smiled, without opening his eyes. They fell asleep together, mother and child.

He felt the sigh of the cushions as his mother got up. The boy's lips tightened in a frown when he heard noise and he got up, seeing his mother listening by the door, her face pale.

"Mother?" he said in alarmed and she silenced him with her hand. A moment passed before she returned to him hurriedly.

"Vladimir…" she began, reaching out for him, but just then the door opened violently, cracking as it struck the stone wall. She clutched her child to her chest. "No! Leave the boy! Please!" she begged, tears welling in her eyes. "Have you no mercy? He is a child! He has done nothing!" she trembled as they approached.

The boy couldn't speak, nor could he see the men as his mother held him protectively from them. He gasped as he felt her body ripped from his, her finger that gripped at him desperately scratched lines of blood into his arm. She screamed and sobbed on the floor, and still no words or thoughts could be conceived in the boy's mind as he was carried out of the room in rough, uncaring arms. When he felt the coldness of the air coming from the hallway as they made their way to the door, he cried out. "MOTHER!" he twisted in the man's grasp so suddenly that he was able to slip to the floor. He ran to her, but his steps faltered as he saw her tortuous eyes, and the fear of his returning to her. He froze, disbelief numbing him. A tear slipped down him cheek, but was discarded when the arms claimed him again. He didn't resist as he was taken.

"Ugh." One of the men looked at the silent child, who undoubtedly knew what was going to happen to him. "Why is the child so quiet?" he frowned. "Is it a boy or a girl? It's really impossible to tell."

"Boy. No wonder our Lord couldn't suffer having such a boy." He noted no response came from the constricted figure. He walked over to the boy. "You know what our Lord said about you?" he crouched in front of the child, putting his face inches from the smaller one. He continued despite the silence. "He called you an eyesore…a useless _thing_ that disgraced his honorable name!" The silence persisted.

"Leave him be." The other man said, eying the pitiful creature. Suddenly he saw the low clouds of dust from the hooves of horses. "Perfect." Relief poured from this word. The boy looked up to see the Turkish horsemen stop, and one came down from the huge beast. _That's a horse. Looks nothing like the picture in my book._ His empty thoughts stopped when the Turk jerked his chin up. A satisfied grin hinted on his features and he nodded to the two men and tossed them a sack that clinked when it was caught.

"Ah!" he called out in surprise when the man picked him up and practically tossed him on the horse and then swung his leg into the saddle, seated behind the boy. They rode off into the rising moon, and the wind stole the child's thoughts, but his eyes still possessed their clarity that reflected the shadowed world around him and he could manage to hear the chorus of hunting wolves. He was shivering violently by the time they stopped, and his cheeks and nose were pink, providing his face with its only color. He was pushed into a campsite made up of numerous, temporary animal hide shelters that were rounded and had distinctly pointed roofs. Directed to a tent in the center of the site, he was left inside, without a word from the man who had ridden with him.

A tall, well built man adorned with the distinguishing purple robes under a display of a few gold trinkets, turned around after a moment and he analyzed the boy. The unnatural color was fading from his face, as the boy noticed how warm the tent was, and he rubbed his hands to coax feeling back into them. "The eyes are quite beautiful."

The boy started, making the man raise an eyebrow. "Do you speak Turkish?" he asked in the same language he had spoken in before.

"Yes." A smile spread across the man's face.

"You are quite well educated then. Can you read and write?"

The boy's confusion disappointed the man for only a moment. "Yes, I can, but may I ask you why it is that you would think otherwise?"

"You are a slave." It was the man's turn to show a slight confusion.

"I know that I am, now." He glanced at the room he was in. "But I wasn't before." His eyes returned to those that continued to watch him. "What were you told when you were given the choice to buy me? And when was that?"

The man hesitated, unused to being asked and spoken to without severe reverence. "It was only today, but I was told that the offer would not last for long. I was told you were a captive."

The boy's eyes widened and he chuckled. "Yes…I suppose I was."

The man's chuckle melded with the boy's. His rough voice contrasted with the child's softer, more delicate tone, as he approached. "I can say….that you are quite interesting."

"Oh yeah? Is that so?" mischievous eyes peered up at the man without apprehension or fear in his expression, only amusement used to drown his current state of sorrow. The Turk watched the boy's innocent ignorance and smiled, his eyes flashing as he observed the boy's figure. He stoked the raven hair with a careless hand, succeeding in surprising the youth. "What are…?"

"You are my slave, little one. You seem to have overlooked the complications of the situation." He took the fabric of the boy's garments into his hand and drew the small body towards himself and whispered in his ear. "You are mine to do as I wish with you…no one will stop me and…" he lifted the boy's shirt, "..no one will save you."

"What are you doing?" A warm hand snaked up his body, setting off an alarm in his head. "What is this?" he recoiled from the large, engulfing hand but was kept in place as the other found itself under his shirt holding his back, across his shoulder blades. A shudder rippled through him. "Stop that." He pushed the hand away. "A…anyway. I'm a boy. I'm not a girl."

The hand returned, eager to explore the unknown body. "That doesn't matter. War does not permit pickiness. And anyway, as I said before,,,," he pulled the faced up to his and kissed him on the cheek. "You are beautiful."

The boy's horror developed into rage and fear and his body shook from a mixture of both. "Get your hands off of me!" he yelled, ripping at the hands investigating him. The face nuzzled his neck, and a cold pierced his heart and he trembled. "No! What are you doing?" his voice shook and his eyes closed as a shudder traveled through him. A small shirt fell to the floor, and other garments followed silently. Soon the boy fell and beat at the one who was on top of him until his wrists were pinned and then tied with a sickeningly convenient piece of rope that was drawn from the Turk's clothes. _He had even prepared…thought this out…and he was toying with me! _A whimper replaced any words and the boy's mind clouded with sensations his body was not ready to experience. He managed to strike the man when he loosened his grip for a moment while trying to tie the squirming boy's wrists. A much harder strike sent stars into the boy's vision and he didn't remember how he had found himself turned around…the man behind him. Tears would not come, even as he screamed in agony. They would not come, but his voice sought God in his own language. Like the Turk had claimed, no one saved him.


	2. Chapter 2

Mornings were spent on horseback and days had no distinction from one another. He saw people killed, joy in the murderer's eyes. He saw blood water the earth, choking flowers. Soon all he could smell and feel were the heat, smoke, and iron from the fires and blood left behind. He was in Hell, and he had done nothing wrong. So distracted was the boy's mind that he could only stare at the warrior who looked at his lifeless eyes with compassion and pity. The Turkish soldiers were being slaughtered outside the tent, and the man's blood was soaking into his rugged floor. A spear stabbed into the body, spraying droplets of blood about the room, as disgust heated the crusader's heart. The man of God picked up the child and then a few clothes that were strewn across the floor, blood speckled.

A day later, on the horse, seated before the crusader, the boy finally took notice of his life and he turned his head to look at his savior. "You…"

The man started at the unsuspected voice and he looked down at the eyes that peered up at him.

"It's alright, boy. We have killed those monsters in the name of God."

"God…" the boy repeated. "Why didn't He save me when I asked Him to? Why did you have to save me instead?"

Pity took the man's heart. "No, God did save you, my child. He sent us. He saved you through us." He patted the small head. "He never abandoned you, remember that. This is but suffering that you must overcome without losing your faith, doing this will secure your soul in heaven as our Lord knows of the extent of your faith in Him."

The boy's eyes lingered but went to the land before him and he recognized it. "I know this place." He said, awed. The warrior smiled, his own faith rejoicing.

"It is God's doing."

"God's doing…" his eyes couldn't leave the path before them and dust billowed behind their wake as hundreds of horses trampled the earth and vegetation in the name of the God who had created them. _Mother…_

The boy convinced the man to leave him in the small village. When he had arrived at the place he had once called his home, he gasped. There were screams coming from within the structure and the guards were not at their posts. Dashing through the open entrance, he almost slipped on the immediate coating of blood on the floor. He overlooked it and ran through the corridor on his left. Blood and gore painted the walls, still dripping, and a few scattered screams and the breaking of doors or of glass could be heard. The boy turned sharply into another passage, but he slipped on a rug and rocketed into the wall. Panting, he threw himself forward and lunged for the door in front of him. It was locked, and he sighed with relief when he heard a muffled scream from inside.

"Mother!"

There was silence and then the scraping of an object moving and the door shifted as pressure was relieved from it. The door cracked open and the boy saw his mother's face for a moment before she cried out and slammed the door, frantically moving the object to block it again.

He shivered, his mouth open with dread and disbelief. "Mother! Its me! Please, let's leave!"

"Get away from me! Monster! You're dead! My son is dead!"

"I didn't die, Moth…!"

"Get away!" she screeched. "If you didn't die, then I would have been killed!"

"Mother." He rested his trembling hand on the door. "Don't…don't say that." He smiled weakly, his face was pale. "Tell me…tell me you love me. Please Mother. That's all I've ever wanted!" his voice cracked. "I can't remember the last time you said that! Its haunted me! Please…please." His voice fell and he hit the door and lent his head on its cold surface. "Please Mother. Tell me I'm loved. I never cared that Father hated me because I had you. Let's leave together. I saw the bodies…everyone is being killed. I don't know who or why but…"

A hand grasped his shoulder and he turned around with a gasp and his eyes locked on a familiar green pair that didn't belong to his father.

"Vladimir?" the eyes were wide and men behind him were also surprised. "I thought you were dead."

"B..brother!" he grabbed his brother's robes. "Please tell me! What's going on? Why is everyone…?" the man interrupted him by smiling wickedly.

"Break down the door." He ordered, pulling the child away. The guards kicked the door twiced before it gave way and they rushed into the room. The boy heard a scream.

"Mother!" he ran into the room as his brother let him go. A man was advancing on her and she was running from him to the window. A sword sliced through her back and she cried out, collapsing to the ground. Slowly she crawled to the wall, shielding herself with her arms.

"NO! NO, DON'T KILL ME!" she screamed, and the boy heard laughter from the doorway. He ran to her, but the guard's sword fell. The boy stumbled and knelt by the body as the blood still had yet to land as the head fell with a loud thud. His hands shook as they hovered over the face that stared lifelessly up at him. The hand hit the ground, losing the strength to stay suspended, and the small fingers streaked the collecting blood on the floor.

The boy roared and sprung at the guard who easily caught him and held him still.

"I'll kill you! I'll kill you!" a sob broke his screams and the hands that held him back felt his trembling. "I'll kill you! Damn you!" he tried to glare at the smiling face before him, the tears made it only into a blur. The figure grew larger and darker and the boy recoiled into the body holding him as a hand wiped away the tears so that his anger would renew with the sight. "I'll kill you! Kill you! "I'll kill you!" the boy screamed and lunged at the man, but the grip on his shoulders and around his neck was like an iron clasp. He continued to scream obscenities and kick and struggle. The arms wrapped around him and stopped his movement completely. The screaming stopped and only eyes glared over the hand that covered half of his face.

"Dear little brother? Why are you so angry." The man walked around the boy, a smile on his lips and in his eyes. "They condemned you to die, to a Hell at the hands of the enemy. That whore gave you up to save herself. Yet why do I hear muffled screams of rage when I mention her?" he laughed but his eyes sparked with interest. "How can you still love her? Did you not feel the thrill of justice when she was impaled in your arms? When the blood was still warm? The very blood that still coats your own body?" he laughed and bent to level his face with the child's. "Eh? Vladimir?"

The boy's mouth dripped with blood and the man holding him yelled from the shooting pain from the mutilated finger. He spat out the chunk of flesh into his brother's face. "She was my mother!" he panted. "You killed them all! Why did you kill them all?" pain in his lungs made him cough, and after the fit ended he flinched as the voice spoke.

"They deserved to die just as I deserved to live and rule in my father's place." Black eyes froze the grey one's of the child. The boy laughed hysterically, startling the men.

"Who do you think you are? Brother?" his laugh cracked. "What do you suppose you are? To decide such things as power, death, and fate? Do you fancy yourself a God? Eh? A God?" his grin twisted with madness. "Are you a God Brother? Tell me! I have many things I'd let to tell the damned God of this pitiful beast called Man. He has taken all he gives and gives, in exchange, pain and the thoughts that you, your own existence is the fault, the cause of the pain!" his laugh continued and the man was frowning. A hand slapped the child and the room was silent. Then a smile returned to the man's face.

"Is that how you see it? You are twisted for such a young mind, little Brother." He chuckled. "I always saw your…potential." His fingers ran over the skin of the boy's face, but the boy didn't betray any movement. The face of the man lent to the child's ear and he whispered. "Your potential to be as mad as me. To perhaps kill them all, just as I have done. To take life in general. I can feel a beast residing within your soul, child." He laughed as he drew away. The he paused. "That is precisely why you must die." He drew out a sword and pointed it to the base of the child's neck. "Should I pray for you, Brother? You seem to hate God." He smiled.

"I'll reserve you a place in Hell, Brother." The boy returned the smile and the man's eyes flashed with a mad glee.

"Perfect." His body tensed to force the sword into the small body, but a sound resembling an explosion stopped him. He whipped around and scowled at the men who had broken down the door and now surrounded them. No words were said as the crusaders looked at the blood and bodies, then they advanced and few rings of metal against metal were heard as they cut down those standing. The man looked down at the child and smiled savagely.

"I'll be the one reserving you a place, then. Brother." His head flew from his body with a trail of blood that spattered the boy's dull eyes. The recognized crusader stood as the body crumpled. He started when he recognized the boy.

"You…" he whispered.

"Is it God's will, once again?"

The quiet voice sent a shiver down the warrior's spine but his eyes were locked with the boy's. "Of course."

He watched the structure burn in silence.

"It's necessary to purge the evil." The crusader said emotionlessly.

"The wonders of fire. Eh? It can erase such things?" the boy smiled cruelly, disturbing the man.

"You will come to learn many things."

"More than this? More than war, fire, death, pain, and abandonment? What else exists?" the child laughed and the man cringed.

He draped his arm around the small shoulder. "I will save your soul. I will take you to learn of God, so one day you will fight for him."

"Is that so?" the boy whispered and there was silence once more.


End file.
